


not in love

by Jackaxed



Series: lelelego's domestic au [1]
Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Infatuation, M/M, Schoolboy Crush, Twins, drunk kids drunk kisses, mostly sfw, tim is a professor, tim is a writer, when your brothers bf is too precious for words
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-05 04:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5361353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackaxed/pseuds/Jackaxed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all starts when Rhys decides to peruse Jack’s bookshelves, huge oak-wood affairs with steel fixings that are just as intimidating as the man who owns them. There’s two shelves full of books on coding and other… computer stuff.</p><p>His eyes catch on a row of books boasting bright spines with weird, curly fonts; certainly a welcome distraction from the drab greys and greens of the business manuals. He traces his fingers along the ledge, crouching down to peer at the names. Crepuscular Light, Neoteric Orb of Night, Penumbra, and Cleft of Morn, all by a Timothy Lawrence.</p><p>“Let’s see who’s behind this shitshow,” he sniggers, flipping the book over to see what this Tim guy’s dumb mug looks like , stopping short when a greyscale portrait of his boyfriend stares sheepishly up at him from the flat cover.</p><p>“Holy shit.” </p><p>--<br/>or where tim is an author and he's sweet on rhys but rhys/jack, and tim and jack are literally brothers so<br/>inspired by the wonderful posts between lelelego, donotchoosesidesyet, pagerunner, and rhysiepiece<br/>and this post: http://lelelego.tumblr.com/post/134437820962/lego-what-if-rhys-learns-about-tim-from-going</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the author of the books

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lelelego](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lelelego/gifts), [donotchoosesidesyet](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=donotchoosesidesyet), [pagerunner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pagerunner/gifts), [Rhysies_pieces](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhysies_pieces/gifts), [scootsaboot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scootsaboot/gifts), [ThirtySixSaveFiles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtySixSaveFiles/gifts), [smileybagel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smileybagel/gifts), [callmearcturus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmearcturus/gifts), [michaelandthegodsquad (achromaggie)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=michaelandthegodsquad+%28achromaggie%29), [por_queeee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/por_queeee/gifts), [literally anyone who's ever done anything rhack ever](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=literally+anyone+who%27s+ever+done+anything+rhack+ever).



> EDIT: changed title  
> original title was 'domestic au ate my brains'  
> \--- and ---  
> tell me what the first parodied series is and i'll give you a cookie

It all starts when Rhys decides to peruse Jack’s bookshelves, huge oak-wood affairs with steel fixings that are just as intimidating as the man who owns them. There’s two shelves full of books on coding and other… computer stuff. Rhys is just a low-level desk jockey, there’s no way he’s ever needed to know about shit like “boolean logic”, okay?

The rest of it is  stock listings, statistics journals, gun magazines, and titles like _Entrepreneurship For Dummies_ and _So You Wanna Build A Business?_. Pretty standard stuff for a guy like Jack. His eyes catch on a row of books boasting bright spines with weird, curly fonts; certainly a welcome distraction from the drab greys and greens of the business manuals. He traces his fingers along the ledge, crouching down to peer at the names. _Crepuscular Light_ , _Neoteric Orb of Night_ , _Penumbra_ , and _Cleft of Morn_ , all by a Timothy Lawrence.

“What the actual fuck?” Rhys mutters, sliding out the first of the series and scanning the inside tab. “Ella Birde’s move to Spoons, Washington, could have been the most boring move ever… but once she meets the mysterious and alluring Edmund Plucken, her life takes a thrilling and terrifying turn… Edmund’s vampire identity… secret… now nobody is safe… the two lovers find themselves on the line between desire and peril… deeply romantic and suspenseful, Crepuscular Light  captures the struggle between denying our impulses and sating our lusts… a love story with a bite.”

He can’t hold back his laughter at knowing Jack _reads_ this shit and actually _enjoys_ it-- enough to buy the entire fucking series, apparently. “Let’s see who’s behind this shitshow,” he sniggers, flipping the book over to see what this Tim guy’s dumb mug looks like , stopping short when a greyscale portrait of his boyfriend stares sheepishly up at him from the flat cover.

“Holy shit.”

It must have come out a little louder than Rhys meant it to, because he dimly registers Jack’s heavy footsteps plodding into the room, a mug full of sugared-up coffee in hand. “What’s up, pumpkin?”

Startled, Rhys drops the book, which falls to the floor with a loud, hard thunk. Jack just raises his brows, bending down to pick up the novel. “Oh,” Jack says quietly, a gleeful grin splitting his face, “ _this_ thing.” He turns it over, stroking the cover in an almost fond way.

“Have you-- have you been moonlighting as a trashy fantasy author?” Rhys sputters, incredulous. “also, what kind of an alias is ‘Timothy Lawrence’-- seriously, what the hell, Jack?”

The other man doubles over laughing, slapping his knee and pointing  at Rhys. “Ah, man, you are such a  freakin’ dumbass-- I can’t believe you thought that was me-- hoo boy, Timmy’s gonna love this one--” here Jack composes himself again, wiping a few tears from the corner of his eye. “Tim’s my _brother_ , Rhys.”

“But-- but he looks exactly like you--” is all the brunette can really manage in reply.

“You ever heard of this little thing called ' _twins_ ', Rhysie-boy?”

Twins? Why didn’t he think of that, of course they’re twins, _god_ , he’s so stupid.

“Anyways,” Jack’s mouth twists into a scowl as he gestures at his scar--  a nasty thing, really, a pale upside-down V, running up his face and through his left eye-- “he doesn’t look _exactly_ like me.”

Rhys feels guilt shoot through him, quick and scathing, wincing as he remembers how touchy Jack is about the scar. “Sorry, sorry-- I just-- you never told me you had a _twin brother_.”

“Does it make a difference?” His tone is casual but Rhys senses strain in his voice.

“No, no, it’s just surprising, that’s all,” Rhys says, watching Jack’s shoulders relax. “Also, uh, why does he write such _trash?_   Sexy vampires, seriously?”

The smile has come back to Jack’s face, all tooth and enthusiasm. “That’s old stuff, he’s gotten better by now, babe. I promise. Try the ones over there,” he nods towards the bookcase and Rhys’ eyes follow his gaze to the very same shelf, landing on what seems to be a trilogy: black, red, and blue. “Yeah, the ones with the blocky white font, they’re great.”

 

Rhys is a little hesitant to read them, given Tim’s apparent track record, but he decides that everyone deserves second chances and starts on the first one. _The Starving Games_ turns out to be pretty good, actually, and Rhys finds himself drawn into the story. He’s delighted when the sequels ( _Enkindle_ and _Lampigeon_ , respectively) further develop the obvious love triangle between the main character and her two friends, Bran and Gust. When he tells this to Jack on their way home from work, the older man just shakes his head, drumming his fingers on the wheel and grinning.

 

“How would you feel about getting to meet this guy, huh, Rhysie?” Jack says. "cause' , uh, he'd like to meet you, too."

 

"Seriously?" he asks, disbelieving. " _Timothy Lawrence_ seriously wants to meet _me?_ "

 

Jack snorts. "Don't underplay yourself, kiddo. You are-- uh, _you_ , after all, and Tim's my brother. You two nerds have gotta meet up eventually."

 

"Uh, yeah, I guess," Rhys says, trying to hide his excitement but failing miserably; he's beaming all the way home.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a happy rhys is (usually) a happy jack. also rhys/tim is coming next chapter i promise  
> \---  
> there's a gravity falls joke hidden in the title incase y'all didn't notice  
> \---  
> Enkindle: to catch fire (yes, that's an actual word)
> 
> Lampoon (to fool, to mock) + pigeon (bird) = Lampigeon  
> kinda like  
> Mock (to imitate, to mimic) + jay (bird) + mockingbird = Mockingjay  
> \---  
> Jack has a pocket-sized copy of Sun Tzu’s Art of War that he never leaves home without, ever. It’s this ratty little red thing, worn out from years of use, and there was this one time Rhys almost threw it away because he thought it was trash--- long story short, Jack wouldn’t even look him in the eye for two weeks after that.
> 
> Jack buys hardcover books whenever he can because hardcovers are a) more expensive than paperbacks and therefore help reinstate how filthy rich he is and b) are much more satisfying to whack people with when he gets frustrated.


	2. the man behind the pen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not gonna lie to you guys; even though i feel really bad about it, i don't think this fic will be updated regularly, and the time inbetween chapters is probably gonna be really long. this chapter's finished now, but seeing as it took me almost a year to write it, well...

It’s ten forty-five and Jack has just finished reading the contract for the S&S Munitions deal-- which is, by the way, almost one hundred and sixty fucking pages long. That, he thinks, is far too long. Long enough, maybe, to shove down the throat of whatever dumbass wrote it in the first place. Probably should’ve expected as much from two guys who founded their whole goddamned company because they were “tired of seeing their clips run dry”.

 

Fucking amateurs. The only reason anyone would ever need extended magazines like that was because they couldn’t shoot straight to save their lives. Then again, the guy at the head of the company-- Salvador, right?-- didn’t seem too bright in the first place. Jack had to give him an A for effort, though. He’d been dogging Hyperion for three years now, and in a move that the CEO would probably come to regret, he’d caved in and agreed to an alliance just to shut the overenthusiastic midget up.

 

Jack leans back in his chair, cracks his knuckles, rolls his shoulders. He should probably go check on Rhys now; it’s about time for them to be getting home. A loud ringing breaks the silence before he can rise from the desk, his phone rattling obnoxiously in his pocket.

 

“Goddamnit,” he growls, sliding his finger across the screen to answer the call. It’s… “Tim? What’s up, buddy?”

 

He can’t help the slight tone of worry in his voice, instinctively recalling the wholly unpleasant events following a certain _other_ late night conversation. Jack’s tilting his head to the side to keep the phone in check as he turns off the computer and shuffles his papers together, waiting anxiously for a response.

 

Tim’s voice crackles through the speakers, timid as always. “Uh, hey, Jack. Are you, uh, are you at home right now?”

 

“Nooooo?” He’s not really sure where in the hell this conversation is going, honestly. “Why do you ask?”

 

“Well, the night class is just about to let out and I was just thinking we could go out to a restaurant. You and me and that Reece kid. That is, unless you guys have already eaten or something, in which case...” Tim trails off, leaving the statement to hang in the air.

 

As if on cue, Jack’s stomach grumbles  loudly, reminding him that _no_ , he has not had dinner yet, and _yes_ , that seems like a pretty good deal. Introduce the boys, grab a bite; it’s  a win-win. He pats his belly as one would a particularly precious equine, grunting out a reply. “Sounds good. We’ll swing around to pick you up in about, uh, ten minutes, yeah?”

 

“Sure, okay.” There’s a click on the end of the line, and Jack knows he’s gone.

 

Stepping out into the waiting room, he’s greeted with soft snoring and the sight of Rhys sprawled out across a makeshift bed of chairs, the side of his cheek pressed into a puddle of his own drool. It’s more endearing than it is gross,  and Jack can’t suppress the warm feeling bubbling up in his chest as he he stands there, lips curling into a fond smile.

 

\---

 

They’re rolling down the beltway by the time Rhys wakes up, yawning and stretching in the passenger’s seat. He blinks slowly before yawning again, turning to Jack with a confused look on his face. “This isn’t the way home,” he mumbles groggily, “where we going?”

 

Jack chuckles, trying to ignore the warmth coiling in his gut when Rhys call his apartment ‘home’. “We’re gonna swing by the campus and pick up Tim, and then we’re gonna go for dinner. You up for it, cupcake?”

 

Rhys jolts up in his seat, running his hands frantically through his hair. “Oh, jeez. We’re gonna be meeting _Tim?_  I’m not ready-- I don’t look-- Jack, I left my books at home-- I am _so_ not prepared for this!”

 

It’s kind of annoying, this idolization Rhys has for his brother, but he supposes it’s only to be expected. Rhys’ obsessions run deep, if his many Hyperion-issued ‘promotional’ posters are to be believed (and they are). Graciously choosing not to point this out, Jack rolls his eyes.

 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Rhysie. Tim’s not gonna care what you look like.”

 

“Yeah, but _I_ care what I look like, and I don’t wanna look like an idiot in front of my favorite author!”

 

“Cool it, cupcake.” There’s a dangerous lilt to his voice, warning Rhys not to press it any further. Of course, it flies right over the kid’s head, drawing an exasperated groan from Jack.

 

“Jack, c’mon, I can’t do this tonight-- “

 

Okay, so Rhys is beginning to annoy him. Jack takes a deep breath; in, out, in, out. That’s what the therapist says, anyways. “ _Rhysie_ ,” he grits out through clenched teeth, overriding whatever bullshit the kid had been whining about, “you look like a million friggin’ bucks, and don’t you let anyone tell ya otherwise. Now _drop it_.”

 

It’s not a lie, and he’ll admit that much, however grudgingly. In all the time he’s known Rhys, he can’t remember any instance where the brunette didn’t look absolutely amazing (cept’ for that one time he stumbled into work completely _shitfaced_ )-- so it’s always annoying when he has these little stints of self-pity because _he’s_ not the one with grey streaks, goddamnit.

 

But Jack also knows it’s not Rhys’ fault, no matter how much he’d like to pretend it is; it’s just him getting angry for no reason, though that thought on its own is enough to incense him. Irrational rage is another one of his ‘symptoms’, as Hammerlock calls it, and it’s just another thing he has to learn to control if he ever wants this… _thing_ with Rhys to work out (and he _does_ want it, more than anything). A frustrated growl slips from his throat and his grip on the steering wheel goes white-knuckled because he doesn’t know how to make this work, doesn’t know what to do; he just knows he’s gonna fuck this up, like he fucks everything up, and then he’ll be alone again, with all the hurt and the rage and the emptiness and--

 

Suddenly, Rhys’ hand moves to cover his, sliding his elegant fingers into Jack’s calloused ones, squeezing reassuringly.  He’s leaning over, pressing a soft kiss to the pale scar running over the older man’s cheek, and the sick feeling in Jack’s gut subsides, weathered by the tender touch. For the second time that night, that familiar ache fills his chest, soft and sweet and lovelier he's ever known. 

 

\---

 

Jack is late.

 

He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised, but it’s still _annoying_. Rain is slamming down on the sidewalk, forcing him to take shelter under an awning.

 

_TIM 10:30 - You’re late._

 

His fingers shake a little as he taps it out and he silently berates himself for not bringing gloves today.

 

_JACK 10:32 - keep ur dick on tim >:P _

 

_TIM 10:33 - Must you use such abhorrent shortand?_

 

_JACK 10:35 - dont be an ass_

 

_JACK 10:35 - well be there in five_

 

_TIM 10:36 - Five minutes? Five hours? I can never tell with you._

 

When Jack finally pulls up, Tim’s standing on the sidewalk, pulling his pea coat tighter around his shoulders and checking his watch for what must be the hundredth time. It’s about a minute later, when Jack makes no move to get out of the car that Tim realizes that his brother expects him to brave the storm. However, just as he’s stepping out of the protection of the awning, the passenger’s side door slams open and a rather rumpled-looking man holding an umbrella storms out of the vehicle. He’s unnervingly tall, lankier than a wildcat, and he looks very, very pissed.

 

“Uh,” Timothy manages, before the stranger grabs his hand, pulling him across the sidewalk and into the backseat of Jack’s car. The SUV’s engine rumbles to life, accompanied by Jack’s whining.

 

“Aww, come on, Rhysie. It would’ve been so funny!”

 

So this _is_ the guy Jack’s been talking about. He figures he might as well introduce himself, especially if Jack’s as serious about him as he says. Tim grins nervously and turns to his left, shifting his gaze to Jack’s new boyfriend as he extends his hand in greeting. Looking back on this moment, he doesn’t think anything could have prepared him for how good-looking the guy is.

 

Slicked-back brown hair, high cheekbones, kind eyes and a smile as sweet as honey. Pretty lips, pretty face--god, he wants to _ruin_ him. He’s so busy staring he barely notices the soft “hi, I’m Rhys.”

 

But he does, and he startles at the feeling of Rhys’ hand in his, embarrassed by how sweaty his palm is. _God, Timothy, get a grip_ , he thinks to himself angrily.

 

“H-hi, Rhys. I, uh--my name is--I’m Timothy, but you can call me Tim.”

 

He doesn’t mean to stutter--Gran-gran always hated it when he stuttered--but he can’t help it. What’s he supposed to do? What’s he’s supposed to say? What _can_ he say, really?

 

 _‘Hey, I know you’re with my brother but could I maybe see you naked?_ ’

 

Yeah. No. But still, he can’t push down the flutter in his chest when they get to the restaurant and Rhys sits on his side of the booth instead of Jack’s, or the way his heart races when their thighs brush under the table. Rhys asks him all sorts of questions about the _Starving Games_ series, like if Kale really _did_ love Gust, whether or not there’s going to be  a sequel with Kale’s kids--stuff like that. Normally, Tim would be annoyed that the reader’s focusing more on the love triangle than the actual theme of the story (since failing to communicate his ideas kind of marks him as a bad writer), but it’s Rhys, so he doesn’t mind as much.

 

Tim finds that he doesn’t mind a lot of things with Rhys, even when Rhys takes up most of the seat or talks while he’s chewing or steals Tim’s steak fries when he thinks he’s not looking. These are all things Jack’s done in the past, which were really annoying then but seem okay now that it’s Rhys doing them. _God_ , he thinks to himself as he watches Rhys laugh at some cheesy joke Jack made, _I’m so fucked_.

 

By the end of the night, Tim’s come to the conclusion that Rhys is… well, he’s _perfect_ . Tim didn’t think it was possible, but he just _is_.

 

He’s cute and nice with just the right amount of snark and he’s everything that Tim’s ever wanted. He’s the kind of person that Tim could envision a life with, someone who makes his heart race and his cock twitch all at the same time, someone who he could grow old with and love deeply and endlessly and _what the fuck is wrong with him_ \--this is _Jack’s_ boyfriend, this is _Jack’s_ partner, and he’s worked so hard to find someone who makes him as happy as Rhys does. How could he  even dream of taking all of that away from Jack, who’s worked so hard to make it to the top? How could he be so _selfish_ \--no, so _inconsiderate,_ of Jack’s feelings?

 

On the other hand, Jack’s the one with the cushy CEO position at the top of his own multi-billion arms company, with enough money to buy the goddamn moon. On the other hand, Jack doesn’t spend his holidays grading papers and taking calls from angry parents who can’t believe their Ivy League brats are skipping classes to smoke pot and get shitfaced. On the other hand, Tim’s been rutting into his right hand for the entire school year while Jack’s been sinking balls deep into Rhys’ sweet little ass. On the other hand, Jack has a souped-up penthouse with  marble counters and a walk-in pantry, when Tim’s still trying to find a roommate to split the rent.

 

But, on the other hand, Tim’s never watched his daughter wither away, pumped full of chemicals and crying herself to sleep as the cancer racks her body. Tim’s never felt the bite of Gran-Gran’s hatchet stinging across his back, while he whimpers and sobs and promises to be good. Tim’s never felt the searing pain of a red-hot blade as it tears through his face, flesh burnt and blistering.

 

Tim hasn’t gone through even half the shit Jack has, and he knows it. He knows that past all the smug grins and flashy cars, Jack has loved and lost and bled for Hyperion. Jack deserves to be happy, and if Rhys makes him happy, so be it.

 

That’s what Tim tells himself over and over again as he tries to forget the way Rhys' eyes light up, or the curve of his lips when he smiles. He spends the night tossing and turning and wishing and wanting things that he can't have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tim is an insomniac, so he ends up watching a bunch of trashy nighttime shows and passing out on the couch to reruns of old George Lopez episodes. The lines from the TV have begun to invade his subconscious, giving him the innate ability to answer any and all trivia questions relating to Family Matters or The Big Bang Theory.
> 
> Since Jack’s the president of an arms company, there’s like, a dozen firearms squirreled in and around his condo and Rhys doesn’t know how to use any of them, so Jack just tells him to not touch them. Jack keeps promising to teach him how to shoot, but he always puts it off because he doesn’t want to acknowledge that being with him is putting Rhys in danger (or that it would be best for Rhys to just end whatever they have right now).
> 
> On an unrelated note, Jack stashes the guns away in the most asinine places; there’s a semi-automatic in the toilet tank (Jack learned how to fix his own pipes after his baby nearly killed a plumber), there’s another sewn into the cushion of his desk chair (you know, the place where your butt goes), and so on.
> 
> It should also be mentioned (read: because I’m a bastard) that Jack has a bit of narcissist complex along with psychopathic traits, including--but not limited to--a general inability to sympathize with others, the uncanny ability to read certain people, an over-inflated ego, ridiculous confidence in his sexual prowess, occasionally homicidal thoughts, and ‘slight’ impulse control issues, to name a few.
> 
> as for the suv, imagine a nissan gripz

**Author's Note:**

> a happy rhys is (usually) a happy jack. also rhys/tim is coming next chapter i promise  
> \---  
> there's a gravity falls joke hidden in the title incase y'all didn't notice  
> \---  
> Enkindle: to catch fire (yes, that's an actual word)
> 
> Lampoon (to fool, to mock) + pigeon (bird) = Lampigeon  
> kinda like  
> Mock (to imitate, to mimic) + jay (bird) + mockingbird = Mockingjay  
> \---  
> Jack has a pocket-sized copy of Sun Tzu’s Art of War that he never leaves home without, ever. It’s this ratty little red thing, worn out from years of use, and there was this one time Rhys almost threw it away because he thought it was trash--- long story short, Jack wouldn’t even look him in the eye for two weeks after that. 
> 
> Jack buys hardcover books whenever he can because hardcovers are a) more expensive than paperbacks and therefore help reinstate how filthy rich he is and b) are much more satisfying to whack people with when he gets frustrated.


End file.
